Stand and Watch It Burn
by arwenfrodogurl
Summary: One-shot. "Past the Point of No Return" from the Phantom of the Opera film-listen to their thoughts as the Phantom's Opera plays its final scene... READ AND REVIEW please


They were waiting, all of them, as she crossed the floor, fear and anticipation giving her voice an agonizing quality that took them all by surprise, her eyes turned desperately to the boxes above. He watched her with a new sense of foreboding, a dim sense of horror creeping into his heart that must only be a shadow of her own. She sank to the stage, lifting a rose into her hands as she fought to disguise their trembling, terror making her skin grow cold. She could see them now, actors and soldiers in a dark smudge behind the curtain, white faces looking back like skulls from the shadows. Behind her, Piangi approached, and she turned to see his face-

It was him.

Tall, elegant, unforgiving…he pressed a finger to his lips as they curved in a dangerous smile, warning her into silence. Her eyes closed, her head tilting back into the embrace she remembered, listening.

_No second thoughts. You've decided…decided…_

Decided.

Her eyes met his, his cape swirling around him in an open challenge, daring her to reveal him.

Reveal them both.

She got to her feet, her breath already escaping her, an unwelcome thrill dancing through her veins. It was his world now, his dark dreams come to haunt the light of day-and she could not resist.

"My God." Giery felt her throat catch as she recognized him, that poor, deadly man so crazed as to appear here, where she never would have expected. Her gaze fell to Christine, childish, naïve, and frozen under his spell. She started forward, then stopped, heart pounding, as she watched his unyielding progress. "My God."

He was circling her, watching her. Incredulous, she stared back at him, wondrous at the change in him. He had come here, unable to resist the temptation to perform in his own opera, with her, in his theatre. Prodigy and protégée, side by side, sharing this darkest of dreams while the world watched.

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend..._

He caught her up in his arms, pulling her to him in an unrelenting embrace, his hands on her hair, her throat, her waist. She luxuriated in his embrace, in the caress of his voice as he brought her deepest desires burning, billowing to the surface.

He was holding her to him, no, binding her, their bodies and souls entwined there before them all, her entire being obedient to him, lost to him. Giery clutched at the wall, unable to speak, only to watch as Christine fell prey to him, slipping away and destroying all hope of attack.

From his box, Raoul had watched the dark form cross the stage, wondering who had been chosen to take Piangi's place. Christine's head came up, her face so white, so pure as she faced him, seemingly entranced as he drew her to him. She was unresisting his arms, her eyes fluttering shut as his voice, his hands caressed her-his voice. That voice in the dark, the voice of an Angel. He lunged from his seat to the rail, realization dawning in a wave of cold horror. He had taken her hand, even now she followed him willingly, giving herself over to his terrible music.

Frightened, she drew back, the people before her coming into focus as she stared out at them. The room was suddenly cold, and she looked beyond them, pleading for salvation even as she realized they could not, would never know the danger so close to them. She walked, fought for the few steps away from him, sweeping the thin lace back over her shoulders in a futile gesture. His eyes flickered, but did not change, ever reaching for her as she stood, defenseless against him.

_Beyond the point of no…return…_

Fear gripped her then, paralyzing fear that made her look to the balcony, matching Raoul's horror with a resignation that froze his blood. He turned to the man behind him, to the adjoining box, and she saw the soldiers take up their positions. Raoul stayed them, watching her, and she longed to be there, to be safe. She knew her face betrayed her, fought to regain her composure even as he drew ever nearer, her pulse leaping into her throat. It was that sense, that inner horror that seemed to slip away as her soul responded to him, regardless of thought or action, again his spell overtook and seduced her, and she knew she was completely, utterly alone. The theatre melted away and she looked out at them, an animal all too suddenly trapped behind a wall of glass. She was his, she knew it now. Her mind cried out, she suppressed it, fighting the wild beating of her heart and yet succumbing to its call.

She turned, shrugging one shoulder so the lace slipped tantalizingly down-she knew he could not help but notice; she was rewarded by a glance that burned her skin.

_Now I am here…with you. No second thoughts. _

"I've decided." The words reached him from an expanse so great he thought he'd imagined them. Her eyes locked with his, she had decided-and his willing prey walked to him. She walked to him of her own volition, a lace sleeve sliding gently over her shoulder, his eyes seared her flesh as she continued towards him, sweet, gentle, Christine.

She was his.

They turned as one, moving towards the stairs that wound ever upward, around the columns so that again their eyes could devour the sight of the other, an electricity that washed over them both as faces vanished and appeared again, forbidden words once locked into silence coming brutally into the light. She was his, totally his, he had won, and she had chosen him in front of them all, in his opera, in his darkness.

Raoul gripped the railing of the box, watching as they climbed ever higher away from the ground, ever farther out of reach. Whatever she had planned, whatever they had planned was falling away as she gave in to whatever spell he had over her. She crossed the bridge to him, ever closer, until he had her again in his arms.

She was his no longer.

There were tears of horror, of disgust, and a loathing so great in him that he was forced to look away. She was drunk in his embrace, intoxicated by his desire for her and careless of all else. His voice penetrated her soul, taking with it last vestiges of resistance as she allowed him to overpower her. In his protective grasp she became his creature, his angel.

Together, heaven and hell met, and the demon of the night had finally claimed her, his angel of music, and taken her where he could not go. Past the point of no return.


End file.
